Dragon's Desire: A SciFi Alien Romance (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss Book 8)

by Miranda Martin

  Tajss is a beast of its own. Two red suns beat down on it, and everything is out to kill you. Literally everything, even the damn plants will try to kill you if you don’t know what you’re dealing with. Rolling sand dunes for as far as the eye can see, broken only by occasional rocky protrusions. A lot of my friends like to debate if it’s more like Tatooine or Vulcan, except Jolie. She thinks it’s more like Gallifrey, but she’s the main Whovian survivor and an outlier in her opinion.

  Fun times, debating the merits of the theories. Back when I was with my friends, before I agreed to be Rosalind’s spy in with those who followed Gershom into exile. It’s been a month, maybe a little more, and things are going from bad to worse.

  In order to survive here on Tajss, humans need to take a plant called epis. I don’t know exactly what it does, but somehow it adjusts our bodies to tolerate the extreme heat. Trouble is that it’s hard to get, doesn’t last long once harvested, and oh yeah, I’m in Gershom’s “Humans First” camp of exiles who all proudly refuse to have anything to do with the local aliens, the Zmaj.

  As if we have any right to refuse them. It’s their damn planet! The Zmaj are the survivors of the alien race that inhabited this planet. They’re like dragon-men, tall, strong, covered in scales complete with wings and tails and horns. They’re sexy too, if you like that kind of thing, and what can I say, I do. The first Zmaj the survivors met fell in love with my friend Calista and led us to his City. That’s where all of us were living before Gershom’s exile. A nice city with a sparkling force field dome that cut down the heat a lot and kept the random dangerous animals out. It was great.

  Except Gershom is a tool. He made a power grab against my boss, Lady General Rosalind, and long story short, he lost. She exiled him and anyone else who wanted to follow his bullshit ideas of “Humans First” and “reject the alien threat” rhetoric. Rosalind is smart though, she doesn’t want him out here scheming without keeping an eye on him. Hence, she asked me to be her plant in his camp.

  It’s not easy though. They don’t take epis so the heat is killing them, literally. Dehydration is a quiet killer, sapping your strength, causing havoc in your body. Because he had no place to go, Gershom led the couple of hundred who decided to follow him to the piece of the generation ship we got here in. It’s the only shelter any of us know about besides the City. I guess we could have gone to the Tribe, a group of Zmaj who showed up later, but then he’d have to get help from Zmaj, not to mention they hate him and would probably kill him on sight.

  So here we are, living in the wreckage of our former ship, struggling for the necessities of life. There are supplies left on the ship but not enough for the long haul, and they’ve already been put on rations. We get enough salt and potassium to keep us from dying, but not enough to feel good. Food is also a problem. The rations that came down with the ship were taken with us when we left here, following Ladon to his City.

  The Zmaj are hunters. A few reasonable humans have learned to hunt under their guidance. That, of course, is out of the question for this group. Learn from a Zmaj? Oh no no, thank you, we’re human, and we don’t need no stupid lizard teaching us anything.

  “Okay, look,” I say, forcing calm into my voice, but my stomach is churning, and the hair on my arms stands on end. “First, what cliff are you planning on herding the stampede over?”

  Jackson’s eyes widen, his shoulders slump, then his eyes light up and he opens his mouth to speak but I hold up a hand cutting him off.

  “Wait,” I say, shaking my finger in his face. “Assuming you have a cliff, how do you start this stampede?”

  “Oh that’s easy, we get behind the herd of bivo, and we tag one of them with a low power zap from the energy guns.”

  It hurts, physically hurts to listen to him. The stupidity of it is literally painful.

  “Right…” I say, shaking my head trying to comprehend why he can’t see how terrible this idea is.

  “Yeah, if you startle one of them, then the rest will react too! Then they run and we just wait for them to go over the cliff. Then we harvest the meat and fur!”

  He bounces with excitement. Desperate, I look to Tessa for support, but she’s grinning too. Obviously she thinks this idea is brilliant. Great.

  “You realize the entire problem is that the bivo don’t notice when we hit them with a full blast from the energy guns, right?”

  “Sure, but that’s why this works! We’re not trying to kill one, all we do is startle the herd then let them run,” he answers.

  “How do you make sure they’re heading in the right direction?” I ask, struggling to not roll my eyes.

  “We put people on either side of the herd,” he answers, straightening his shoulders and grinning.

  “Okay, so people on either side of a herd of what, twenty to thirty bivo? Each one weighing around four to five hundred pounds?”

  “Yeah,” he says, nodding.

  “And if they get off course a bit, these people… shout at them? Or shoot them?”

  “Shoot them,” he says, nodding faster.

  “With the energy guns,” I say.

  “Yeah!” he says, bouncing again while nodding even faster.

  “The same guns we already established don’t affect the bivo,” I say. “The jolt doesn’t get past their hides.”

  “Rig-” he starts, then it hits him and he stops. His shoulders slump. “Oh.”

  Tessa is as crestfallen as he is. A hard knot forms in my stomach seeing them. They’re not bad people. Desperate, maybe a bit stupid, but not bad people. That’s my problem with this entire situation. None of Gershom’s “followers” are bad people, or the majority aren’t. They’re scared, confused, and lost.

  “It’s okay,” I say, putting a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “I’m hungry too.”

  “It seemed like a good idea,” he says, his stomach grumbling loudly.

  “Yeah,” I say. “It’s too dangerous, is all. We’ve already lost two hunters, we can’t afford to lose any more.”

  “Right,” he agrees.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I say. “I did some work with the hunters back in the city. I think I can get us some food.”

  Both of their eyes light up.

  “Great!” they say together, then look at each other and laugh.

  The chemistry between the two of them is as obvious as the double suns in the sky, but I don’t think Jackson is getting the message that she’s as interested as he is. He looks away from Tessa quickly. She frowns, her brow furrowing, her long brown hair drifting around her face in the hot breeze. Well, here is something I might be able to do that’s helpful.

  “Hey, Jackson,” I say.

  “Yeah?” he asks, kicking his foot through the sand.

  “Could you and Tessa go up into the old medical bay of the ship and sort through those boxes?”

  “Huh?” he asks, looking at me and frowning.

  Darting my eyes at Tessa then back, I frown, trying to will him to get it. Her eyes are dancing with excitement—she gets it at least.

  “It’s really hard to get into there,” he says.

  “I know, that’s why I asked both of you to do it,” I say.

  “Oh, man,” he grouses, kicking the sand in my direction.

  “Because you two would be alone, and it could take a while,” I say, going blatant on it.

  “Alo—” he stops mid-word, eyes widening. A slow grin spreads across his face. “Yeah, of course.”

  He glances at Tessa, and I swear I can see his heart pounding in his chest. The beads of sweat rolling down his face are from much more than the heat alone. Tessa smiles, meeting his eyes, then the two of them walk off together.

  Well, one good deed for the day done.

  I turn back towards the wreckage we’re calling home, and a soft, hot breeze stirs the sand and cools my sweat. People move listlessly around the ship, sticking mostly to the shade. The wreckage is massive, like a giant splinter stuck into the sand and rising hundreds of
feet into the sky. It’s hard to comprehend that this is only a small section of the ship that used to be our home. Inside it was just home, and only a very few of us had an opportunity to see it from the outside. The scope of it was massive. A testament to the will of humans and their desire to conquer the universe.

  Or our innate desire to get rid of what we don’t want. The vid sticks and our schooling painted a glowing picture of why the generation ships were built. Humanity reaching for the stars! Conquering the universe as we spread our wings and fly!

  That’s what they wanted everyone to believe but there was a lot more to the truth. It was all a big PR campaign. Our ancestors who chose to go on the ships did so to escape a life of poverty and hopelessness. Earth was overpopulated and only growing worse. There weren’t enough resources to support the population and predictions were that by the next generation they wouldn’t be able to feed everyone.

  Too often there is more going on than what we see. Thank you, Rosalind for teaching me to open my eyes.

  I’ve learned so much from her. Observation of what’s really there, not what I want to be there. That one trait has served me well.

  Sighing, I notice my awareness returning to the empty ache in my stomach. It consumes my motivation. Duty wars with desire. I don’t want to be here, but I have to be. Rosalind asked, and I can’t turn away from it. She needs to know when, not if, Gershom becomes a threat again. It’s not for her, it’s for the survival of two races, both human and Zmaj. I’m one of the few she’s entrusted with her vision of the future. The merging of our two races into one new one.

  There are no Zmaj females. They all died in the event they call the Devastation, the war that destroyed the planet, decades back. There aren’t enough humans to make sure we’re viable, and our bodies, even with the epis, aren’t well adapted to the environment. I don’t know when she came up with the plan, probably after Calista, a human survivor, and Ladon, the first Zmaj we met, hooked up, but more likely after Calista had their baby. The first crossbreeding of our two species. Illadon is cute as a button and mischievous as hell. He’s also proof of the compatibility between us, with distinctly human and Zmaj traits both combined into something new.

  As more humans and Zmaj have fallen for each other, the viability of that future became real. Why no one else is seeing it, I don’t know, but if I had to guess, it’s because surviving every day is enough of a pain in the ass for most of us. Rosalind thinks into the future. Lady General of the Generation Ship, she was in charge of the marines and pilots. Now, she’s the de facto leader of the human race.

  And she trusts me. She needs me here, and so I am. Away from my friends and the one male I’m interested in. Does Rosalind know?

  My brow furrows. Does she? She has an almost magical ability to know things, but I don’t think she does. How could she? It’s not like Drosdan and I have made any public announcements or displays of our affection. He’s Visidion’s, the leader of the Tribe, second in command. He’s as loaded up with duty as much as I am, every bit as loyal and dedicated too. And big, even for a Zmaj, who are huge, he’s big. Twice the size of the rest of the Zmaj males. When he wraps his massive arms around me, encompassing me, I melt into him. Nothing has ever made me feel so… safe.

  In public, with everyone else, he’s rough and rude, but in the few moments we’ve managed to steal alone, he’s gentle and soft. He’s also the only reason this camp is still alive. He’s been leaving food and epis for me at our secret rendezvous.

  Warmth rushes out of my core and through my limbs. I turn my back on the camp in case anyone is looking. I don’t want them to see the tears welling. It’s all I can do to hold them in. I miss him so much. Inside, duty wars with desire, but in the end, duty wins out. It’s not for me or Rosalind, it’s for all of us. Rosalind is adamant that this group has to survive too, no matter how stupid their leader is. There’s no way they’ll make it on their own.

  Right, here I am. Great.

  The empty, rolling dunes, striated in shades of red and white accents, roll out before me all the way to the horizon. Empty and barren as I feel inside. Alone. I wish he was here or I was there with him. Sighing, I turn, tearing my eyes away while pushing the ache down, and return to the camp.

  I don’t know how long this can go on. Somehow, someway, all these people need to figure out that they should go back to the City. How do I get them to overcome their fear?

  2

  Drosdan

  “I told him if he did that again I was going to knock his face in,” Padraig says, crossing his bulging arms over his chest.

  The blacksmith’s deep voice grates on my nerves. Nothing is ever easy, especially with him. He’s always ready to fight, with or without a reason. He’s always used his size to intimidate others, but that doesn’t work with me, and he knows it. Big as he is, I’m almost twice his size. He only tried it with me once. I put him on the ground so fast that he hasn’t forgotten which of us is dominant—though he still pushes my buttons every chance he gets.

  “How was I supposed to know?” Errol asks.

  It’s hard to understand what he’s saying. Padraig landed at least one good hit, maybe more, and Errol’s face is swelling.

  “Because you shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to you!” Padraig roars, hands balling into fists.

  “Enough,” I say, not raising my voice.

  Padraig shakes with anger but doesn’t follow through with the threat his posture implies. Visidion can’t come home soon enough. Dealing with things like this is his strong suit, not mine. I’m no leader, I’m the second. That’s what I want to be, working for him, not ruling in his stead.

  “Drosdan,” Errol says,

  “I said enough,” I hiss, dropping my arms. “You’re in the wrong and you know it. Padraig, you’re no better.”

  “I didn-” Padraig starts, but I cut him off with a glare.

  “You can’t beat up anyone who pisses you off,” I say, fighting the desire to do it myself. “That’s it. Now, both of you—get back to work.”

  They glare at each other, and then Errol shakes his head and leaves. Padraig continues staring. I wait. Is he going to try it? Tingles run down my arms to the tips of my fingers. Yes, Padraig, try it. Beating you down here in front of everyone would give me an incredible amount of satisfaction. Matching his glare with my own, waiting, please do it. Visidion can’t be pissed if I’m ending a fight. Everyone in the camp would appreciate me giving you a solid beating. Hell, they’d probably all thank me. You’ve been on a rampage for a while.

  His hand tightens into a ball—he’s going to do it. The bijass, primal urges threatening to revert me to base instinct, the bijass rising feels good.

  Excitement builds, a vibration runs through me. Outwardly I don’t give him a sign. Let him think I’m not ready.

  The muscles of his right arm tense, his jaw tightens, his tail rises, yes!

  He spins on one foot and stomps away.

  Damn it!

  Some of the tension drains out of my back muscles. If only he had gone for it, I could have taken out some of my frustrations on him. I roll my shoulders before I make my rounds, but the tension I carry in them won’t let go.

  Several females are working the garden. I pass them and enter the cool cavern, making my way deep into it past the farming efforts until I reach the crevasse that leads to where the epis grows. If Errol hadn’t been working to widen the passage I’d never make it through. Scraping my wings against the stone as I squeeze through it sideways, I emerge on the other side. The long strands of softly glowing blue epis hang from the ceiling.

  There’s not enough here. The humans’ need for it is endless, and it’s not growing back fast enough. We’re going to need a new source soon.

  Another problem. I sent Samil to the City so that Visidion and Rosalind would be aware, but he hasn’t returned yet. Finishing my count of the epis—how many are ready for harvest, how many for propagation—I squeeze back out.

  When I e
merge from the cavern, the suns’ warmth hits my scales. More of my tension eases. The cool air of the cave is miserable, but the humans seem to enjoy it. They spend as much time in there as they can.

  “Drosdan,” Melchior calls.

  “Yeah?” I ask, spotting the Zmaj hunter next to the wall, I join him.

  The wall is almost finished. Ten feet tall, curving around and blocking off our area. No one has figured out a way to block the opening through it yet but I’m sure Padraig will figure out a solution, sooner or later.

  Errol is constructing an arch over the opening today. There’s a complex array of ropes, pulleys, and stacks of stone holding up other stones. It looks impractical but Errol is happy with the work. Penelope, the tall human female, watches the work, sharp green eyes flashing in the sunlight.

  “You have to make sure that is stable before you add the next stone,” Penelope says, pointing up to where Errol is perched precariously on a makeshift ladder.

  He shifts the stone he’s working on, scraping it across the stack of stone that is holding it in the air.

  “Better?” Errol asks.

  “Yes,” Penelope says. “I think so.”

  “We’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Melchior says.

  “How long?” I ask, watching the ongoing work.

  “Four, maybe five days,” he says.

  “Sounds good,” I answer.

  Leaning against the rock of the wall I watch the sand shift across the dunes. As soon as the two red suns go below the horizon, I’ll be able to slip away. She’s out there, waiting.

  “You all right?” Melchior asks.

  “Huh? Of course I am,” I growl. “Wish Visidion would get his tail back here. I don’t want to deal with this shit.”

  Melchior laughs and claps a hand on my shoulder.

  “Yeah, I don’t envy you,” he agrees. “Herding majmun would be easier.”

  “Right,” I agree.

  “It’s better, though,” Melchior adds.

  “What is?”

  “Everything,” he shrugs, shaking his head. “Better than it was.”